


Never Mind the Furthermore, The Plea is Self-Defence

by michaeljagger



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Black Comedy, Gen, Murder TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaeljagger/pseuds/michaeljagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micky's love of celebrity impressions lands him in serious trouble, but perhaps not as serious trouble as it lands Mike in. His attempts to cope with the repercussions bring about a few surprising twists. I wrote this at least a year ago what's up with that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Mind the Furthermore, The Plea is Self-Defence

There was silence in the courtroom, save for the sobbing of a black-clad woman in the front row, who clutched in her lap a green woollen bobble hat, crusted with crimson blood. A short but handsome young man had his arm around the grieving widow; he shot a malevolent look in the direction of the man in the witness stand, baby-faced features twisted in contempt. Micky Dolenz gave a beatific smile in return.

'You're pleading self-defence?'

The magistrate's voice was incredulous, and Texan. Micky opened his mouth to affirm, but before he could speak a loud, anguished sob rang out across the courtroom.

'Mike! Oh, Mike, why - '

'It's all right, Pete,' Davy muttered, leaning awkwardly across Phyllis Nesmith to pat his blond-headed bandmate on the back. 'It's all right - '

'No, it's not!' Peter's torn voice reached an angry crescendo as he snatched the hat from Phyllis's lap, wringing it in his hands. 'It'll - it'll never be all right again! All 'cause of you!' He jabbed an accusatory finger in Micky's direction, tears dripping unattractively from his nose. The magistrate cleared his throat; Peter continued wailing in earnest, until Davy finally stood up, pulling Peter up from his seat with him and leading him out of the courtroom. Once the door had slammed shut behind them, the magistrate cleared his throat again. Phyllis did not look at Micky.

'You claim self-defence, Mr Dolenz?'

Micky opened his mouth once again, but before he could make a sound there was another interruption. 'Excuse me, your honour! Excuse me!'

Micky's lawyer (who, coincidentally, looked a lot like Davy, except with slicked-back hair) had jumped to his feet. 'Excuse me!' His Mancunian accent echoed across the room.

The magistrate turned belligerently to the lawyer, and raised an eyebrow, which made his wig slip forwards over his woolhat. 'Yes?'

'Excuse me, your honour!' He produced from his briefcase a sheaf of papers. 'Excuse me!'

'What is it, Mr Jones?' the magistrate asked testily, fingering the handle of his gavel.

'Look at all this paper, your honour!' Micky's lawyer cried, waving the sheaf and dropping several sheets to the floor in the process. 'This is good quality paper, this is!'

'Thank you, Mr Jones.' The lawyer nodded, and returned dutifully to his seat. 'Now, Mr Dolenz ... ' The magistrate turned back to Micky, who was chewing on a bunch of freesias he had taken from a nearby vase. Phyllis gave a choked sob.

'You plead self-defence. Could you, er, outline exactly what your case for that plea is?'

'I'd like to call a witness to the stand if I may, your honour.' It was the first time Micky had got to speak through the entire session.

'Certainly.'

Micky nodded. 'I call Theter Porkelson to the stand.'

A nervous-looking man in the back row (who, coincidentally, looked a lot like Peter, except with a luxurious handlebar moustache), who had previously gone unnoticed, gave an alarmed cough and stumbled to the witness stand. 'I - uh -I - ' He took out a sheet of paper, and read over it with a frown. 'Uh - '

'Mr Porkelson, do you have any evidence to give?'

Mr Porkelson gulped. 'Your honour - ' He glanced at Micky, who nodded. 'Uh - your honour - ' He closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath.

'My mother says you have the best posture of anyone she knows.'

The magistrate nodded. 'Thank you, Mr Porkelson.'

Mr Porkelson returned to his seat; Micky watched him, then spoke again before the magistrate could ask another question.

'Michael Nesmith violated my rights, your honour.'

There was a long pause, which was only broken by a mutter from the back row ('Ooh, I'd let Mike violate _my_ rights any time he liked.').

The magistrate observed Micky. 'In what way?'

A loud giggle came from the same place in the back row. Micky ignored it.

'He violated my right of expression, your honour.'

'Explain, Mr Dolenz.'

'We were in the studio.' A faraway look came over Micky's face. 'Between takes, we were breaking for coffee. The boys looked pretty tired out, so I decided to lift their spirits.'

He replaced the empty freesia vase on the windowsill. 'I performed my impression of the _inimitable_ Fred Astaire doing his impression of the _inimitable_ James Cagney. _You're the rat who_ \- '

'Mr Dolenz,' the magistrate interrupted.

'Sorry.' Micky pushed a hand through his hair.

'I was barely halfway through my act when Michael coarsely interrupted me. Do you know what he said, your honour?' Tears were welling up in his eyes.

'Your honour, Michael Nesmith told me, and I quote, to "can it, Micky". He told me to can it, your honour.'

There was a hush over the courtroom. Phyllis raised her eyes.

'What choice did I have?'

The magistrate coughed, taking out some papers and reading over them. 'So you assaulted Mr Nesmith with a snare drum, beating him repeatedly over the head whilst shouting "GEE, MIKE, THIS SURE IS ONE HECK OF A _DIFFERENT DRUM_!"?'

'Yes, your honour.'

The magistrate frowned, then picked up his gavel. Micky noticed, for the first time, that it had an extraordinarily long handle. 

'Mr Dolenz ... '

Micky watched the gavel in apprehension; it seemed to be hovering perilously close to his head. He feared for his haircut.

'Don't do that.'

Those were the last words Micky Dolenz heard, echoing through his mind with a Texan twang, before the pain in his head overcame him and he collapsed to the floor.


End file.
